


Holographic Saccharine

by CAW



Series: Roses In The Winter [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, But he got shot so ya know, Celine and Damien are mentioned but you never really see the poor dears, Dark Magic, Explicit Language, Gun Violence, Her name's Milk and Cookies, Implied Sexual Content, Insanity, Magic, Memory Loss, My boy Septiplier is mentioned as well..., Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RIP :(, She's a delight, Violence, World War I, there's a cat too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-15 00:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CAW/pseuds/CAW
Summary: "What better way to get control then to create a game show! After all, everyone LOVES game shows! It might not make a shit ton of sense to everyone, but to Wilford, in his own screwed up mind, it abso-fucking-lutely made sense! And if it was control that the dark man wanted, if his scenes in 'A Date With Markiplier' were anything to go by, the reporter would be HAPPY to provide. After all, He WAS Wilford Motherlovin' Warfstache."





	1. Chapter 1

It was during the shooting of one of his interviews that Wilford came up with the idea.

Well, in the AFTERMATH of one of his interviews.

"You can't keep killing people on set!"

"What!? Come on,  _ Kathy _ ! It's not that BIG of a deal! We'll just… edit out the blood like last time!" Wilford pouted as he stared at his editor, one hand ideally playing with the small knife he had just murdered his most recent guest with while the other scratched at a spot of stumble across his cheek.

"Wha- Seriously!? I can't just fucking edit out all the blood every single time you just decide to stab someone in gullet!" Kathryn was practically yelling by this point, her arms waving around frantically and her voice raising to a higher pitch then normal, and the rest of the crew was beginning to notice, all the normally silent men and women that worked on the set of **Warfstache Tonight** watching with intense and slightly terrified expressions as they awaited Wilford's response.

One of the cameramen even stopped chewing the sandwich he had been eating throughout the entire time the show had been shooting that day, drops of mustard and ketchup dripping to the floor as he watched the showdown with wide eyes and an open mouth.

Wilford scowled, slipping his knife back into the red garter around his leg, before standing up and, raising his hands in an exasperated gesture, exclaimed, "But isn't that what I bloody PAY you to do?! To fucking edit things out of the DAMN video that need to be bloody edited  _ OUT _ ?!" He kicked the body beside him for empathise, the tip of his pink shoe sticking grossly into the gaping, bleeding hole in the man's purple shirt. Pulling a face, he removed his foot, trying to wipe his now red colored shoe on the carpet to no avail before continuing with a raised brow, "You've done just  _ splendidly _ in the past; I don't understand WHYYY this time is any different!"

"The recording was LIVE, Wilford!"

"SO?" Wilford countered, watching out of the corner of his eye as several of his crew members inched silently towards the exit of the studio. He made a mental note to shoot them all and hire new staff later… If he could remember it. His memory was spotty on the best of days.

Kathryn gave her boss a withered face, her hands now clenching and unclenching at her sides as she stared at the carnage around her, before snapping, "There's no coming from this one! Literally  _ everyone _ saw you kill Markiplier!" Wilford opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly quieted with a wave of his editor's hand. "You're done! Do you get that?! You're  _ fucking  _ DONE!"

Shaking her head with an anxious laugh, Kathryn walked off set, leaving a very confused and very frustrated Wilford in her wake. "And just where the Hell do you think YOU'RE going!" He shouted after her, placing one hand on his hip and another around his mouth just to make sure she heard him loud and clear. The only response he got was the sound of the studio doors opening and slamming shut once again. 

Wilford sighed dramatically, taking the hand he had been using to amplify his voice and draping it over his eyes to shield the light coming from the bright studio lamps over head. He sighed again, peeking out from between his fingers to see if anyone in his crew was gonna help him clean up the mess that had been made of the once cozy looking set. Not one person had moved an inch, not even the stupid guy with the stupid dripping sandwich in the back corner.

"Well… don't all you come charging up here at once," Wilford muttered as he let his hand leave his eyes and comb through his disheveled pink hair once before falling to his side. He fixed his crew with a glare, almost daring anyone to come forward and to help him clean, before deciding he had had enough of his bloody  _ useless _ crew. "Fine, fine, FINE. If THAT'S how it's going to fucking be-"

The one, two, three loud bangs of his pistol echoed through the air of the studio, shattering one of the three stage lights above his head and sending sparks shooting towards the ground. Wilford let a small chuckle escape his lips as he watched his staff scramble for the exits, the odd screams and curse words tumbling from their lips, until all of them had escaped the now desolate room and into the hallway directly outside.

Letting a smile spread across his lips, Wilford chuckled again and slid the pistol back to wherever the Hell it had come from. Sometimes he only needed to think about holding the shiny metal tool and it would sure enough be in his hand faster then he could blink. He had long ago learned to not ask  _ tooooo _ many questions when it came to his own sanity.

"Well, THERE you have it," he monologued softly to himself, beginning to whistle a cheery tune as he turned back to the dead body on the floor next to him. Wilford slowly bent over the corpse, careful to not dip his hands into too much of -what was his nam- Markiplier!- Markiplier's blood, as he grabbed the man's wrists and started to pull him leisurely off the studio floor. "As ALL should know by now," Wilford continued, his thoughts spiraling as the red of the blood started to engulf his vision like it sometimes did when he killed someone, "Warfstache don't take no shit from nobod-"

He paused, his eyes lingering on the face of the dead YouTuber below him. He looked so  _ fucking _ familiar… and it was rare that Wilford could  _ ever _ atest to that. Dropping Mark's wrists to the floor with a slap, Wilford quickly walked in front of the dead man and stepped over his torso so he was on either side of the YouTuber. Bending over, his face scrunching in confusion as his hands were placed on his hips once again, Wilford said with the tiniest of smiles, "I daresay, good sir, you look  _ ABSOLUTELY _ ,  _ POSITIVELY _ familiar! Have we, perchance, met before? Maybe I slept with your wife? Or husband? Or maybe both; I have no bloody idea…"

And then it hit him like a train all at once. The manor, Abe the Detective, the fateful game of Russian Roulette in the basement… and then, just like that, it was gone once again. Wilford blinked once and then twice, trying to will back the memory that seemed so aching familiar and so bloody important. But, no matter how tightly he scrunched up his face and made animalistic noises, the memories… were just gone.

Letting out a growl, Wilford stepped the rest of the way over Markiplier's body and kicked it away sharply, taking small, uneasy steps backwards until the backs of his knees hit his reporting chair and he sank into it with a huff. He glared at the body in front of him with a frown on his face, his hands running up and down his thighs as he scrubbed his brain front to back for the memories he had just remembered and just as quickly had forgotten. 

"BLOODY HELL!" He shouted to the ceiling as he flung his whole body backwards, nearly tipping over the chair and giving himself whiplash in the process. He had just remembered, god dammit! He had  _ JUST FUCKING REMEMBERED _ something! And that something was important too! He could feel it in his bones! Wilford continued to lean backwards in his chair for a few more minutes before he slowly sat upright once again, raising a brow as a tiny glint of a memory gleamed from within his brown eyes.

"...C-Celine?"

And then he was shooting up from his chair like a rocket and rushing out the door of the studio, barely managing to jump over the dead YouTuber's body in his haste to leave.

\---

Six and a half hours later, after watching a total of 69 (he had laughed himself silly and nearly fell out of his loveseat when he realised that was the actually number) of Markiplier's videos, a plan and a memory had begun to melt and form together in his mind. He still didn't know the significance of the name 'Celine', though it  _ sounded _ like such a lovely name, but he did know one thing.

Well, TECHNICALLY two things.

One: He may have accidentally killed his creator earlier that day. He had laughed and laughed practically to tears when he had found the earliest comedy sketches that this  _ Mark  _ fella had done with a character that was  _ strikingly _ like himself. He wasn't even upset when he had come to the realisation that he had been  _ created _ by Markiplier. Stranger things had happened to him, after all.

Two: If he was real and had been created by Mark, then the dark man from **A Date With Markiplier** that had ALSO been created by Mark could possibly be real too. And, god dammit, if he was, Wilford was going to find that black eyelined sonofabitch if it was the last thing he ever did. There was just something… magnetic about the man that had had Wilford transfixed from the first time he had appeared on the screen.

And if it was control that the dark man wanted, if his scenes in **A Date With Markiplier** were anything to go by, Wilford would be happy to provide that just for a chance to speak to him… if he could just think of a  _ bloody _ way to do it.

Closing the pink laptop on his lap, Wilford threw it to the other side of the couch while a rerun episode of Wheel of Fortune played quietly from the old tv that sat in front of the reporter. One of his cats, a small white one by the name of Milk and Cookies, jumped directly onto the pink haired man's lap, startling him briefly and nearly causing him to stab the poor kitty with the same knife he had killed  _ the _ Markiplier earlier that day. Wilford grimaced. He did  _ kinda _ regret killing him now, even if death is only temporary.

Shifting his eyes from the snuggly cat on his lap to the static-y tv in front of him, Wilford watched for a few moments before his face split into a wide grin and happy chuckle escaped his lips. 

What better way to get control then to create a game show! After all, everyone LOVES game shows! It might not make a shit ton of sense to everyone, but to Wilford, in his own screwed up mind, it abso-fucking-lutely made sense! And just like that, at the ungodly hour of 3:42 in the morning, his plan was hatched.


	2. Chapter 2

Wilford awoke to the feeling of a sandpaper like cat tongue licking his face, remnants of a dream involving cotton candy, a chipmunk, and a road trip to Santa Monica lingering at the forefront of his mind as he swiped the cat off of him and onto the floor. He grumbled something about how cats "bloody take care of themselves my ass," before slowly sitting up, popping his back as he stretched his arms overhead. He briefly gave Milk and Cookies a one in a million death stare from where she sat patiently on the floor before groaning again and swinging his feet over the edge of his loveseat

** **

"This is an truly _ ungodly _hour to be awoken, you nasty little fiend," Wilford muttered to Milk and Cookies as he stood and trudged slowly to the bathroom that was directly down the hall from his bedroom/living room. Milk and Cookies followed close behind Wilford, her tail swishing back and forth as she meowed loudly. The reporter stopped outside the bathroom door to give her an incredulous look. "Did you WANT something?" He asked with a shake of his head before grasping onto the doorknob and pulled open the door, "I'll feed you in a second. Give ol' Warfie a minute to freshen up and THEN-"

** **

Wilford paused as he flicked on the light, his mind completely shifting from one train of thought to another as memories of cotton candy eating chipmunks were replaced with ones involving game shows and mysterious figures. He turned to look in the mirror next to him, his own disheveled and confused expression looking back at him. _ Why the Hell was he even _ thinking _ about game shows again? Didn't it have something to do with a shadow man? _

** **

Slowly flicking off the light and closing the door in front of him, Wilford stared at Milk and Cookies for what felt like an eternity, his hands unconsciously twirling one end of his pink mustache as he thought. And then, all at once, his face lit up. 

** **

"OH!" Wilford exclaimed as he practically ran away from the door, his mind totally neglecting the fact that he desperately needed a shower as he marched back into the living room. He placed his hands on his hips, biting his upper lip as he tried to remember the last place he had put his phone. Milk and Cookies looked on with a bored face as she licked her paws.

** **

"Don't you give me that face, Missy!" Wilford snapped at his cat as he turned in a small circle while gazing around his living room, almost tripping over the laptop that had obviously fallen to the floor sometime overnight more then once. "Phone. Phone. Phone. Where the HELL did I put that bloody communication device?!"

** **

He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the eye gunk that had built up there from over night. His right hand, which had been _ empty _only a few moments prior, now felt like it was holding exactly what he was looking for. He glanced down for confirmation before looking up at the ceiling with an eye roll and an extremely exaggerated sigh. He honestly wasn't even surprised anymore.

** **

A few moments later and his signature smile had returned. "THERE you are, you little scamp!" Wilford cooed as he raised the phone to his face and gave it a small kiss, turning to look at Milk and Cookies with a grin as he waggled the phone between his thumb and forefinger. She simply meowed louder and swished her tail. In that moment, the reporter, his mind racing at a million miles an hour as the logistics of his plan came flooding back all at once, was quite tempted to shoot his cat and just be done with it.

** **

Instead he smirked and, opening his contacts and pulling up Kathryn's name, slurred out, "Oh I'll feed you in a second, you little devil. Wilfie's got a few _ calls _ to make first…"

** **

\---

** **

"You want to _ what _?"

** **

"A GAME SHOW, Kathy! Doesn't that sound like a smashing idea!?" Wilford was currently scurrying around his apartment, searching for his shoes with his phone in between his ear and shoulder and his cat tucked under one arm. He ducked his head to look under the loveseat as he continued excitedly, "Just THINK about it! I can almost picture the multicolored lights and enthusiastic crowds now! Opportunity is knocking and it demands to be answered!"

** **

Scrunching his nose when he couldn't find the piece of clothing he was looking for, Wilford quickly spirited to the other side of the apartment and peered into the bathroom, his grip on Milk and Cookies almost becoming bruising. He chuckled softly to himself as he ripped open his pink shower curtain and found all twenty-six pairs of shoes that he owned all stacked in a neat pile in the center.

** **

"Uh... Do you want my honest opinion about all of this?" Kathryn lamely asked through the static of the old phone, Wilford placing Milk and Cookies on the top of the toilet seat so he could examine each pair of shoes in the bathtub carefully.

** **

Grabbing the phone in his right hand as he grinned and reached for a pair of brown dress shoes on the other side of the tub, Wilford giddily replied, "Well OF COURSE I want your honest opinion! Isn't that what reporting is all about? Hitting the cold hard truth as hard as you can with a sledgehammer and then dispersing the remaining pieces to the public like bags of free taffy?!" He knew that wasn't _ exactly _ how the phrase went, but it was close enough.

** **

Wilford could practically hear Kathryn roll her eyes out of her head and onto the floor, prompting the reporter to grin wider at his phone and let out a loud giggle as he struggled to put on his first shoe.

** **

"Righhhht… Quite frankly Wilford, the show that you already HAVE doesn't make enough revenue to support your…" she paused, giving Wilford enough time to finish the bow his first shoe and fix the phone with an impatient stare before finishing, "_ project _."

** **

Wilford scoffed. "It isn't JUST a project," he began as he swiped at Milk and Cookies so she'd get off of his second shoe, "It's a new SHOW! You and I both know how new programs on tv go; we just have to grow the name and brand AND BOOM! Everybody's talking, posting, and tweeting about it! People'll LOVE IT _ and _ it'll really help boost the ratings of **Warfstache Live**, just you wait and see!"

** **

A sigh was heard from the other end of the call and Wilford narrowed his eyes, taking the phone out from the crook of his shoulder and neck to glare at the caller ID menacingly.

** **

"I… I don't know, Wilford… Why the Hell are you talking to me about this anyway? Shouldn't you be talking to the Director? You know, the person that can actually make your idea a reality?"

** **

Wilford made a huffing noise, tapping the button for the speaker before placing the electronic on the bathroom sink to left. "Kathryn, this is a BIG opportunity right here in front of us!" He began once again, agitation leaking into his voice as he tied his bootlaces into double knots, "I don't think you are… _ completely understanding _ what I'm saying here." He pouted as he stood, turning so he was looking at himself in his cracked bathroom mirror above the sink. He straightened his suspenders, rolled up the sleeves of his white striped button up, and picked up the phone again. "And I called YOU because I LIKE you, Kathy! You've been with me through thick and thin over the years, for Heaven's sake! I thought YOU should be the one to hear my idea first!"

** **

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay look, I'm working at the videoshop right now and I need to go. Call the motherfuckin Director and ask him about your stupid idea, Warfstache, 'cause I need to go. Goodbye." Wilford opened his mouth to say something, one hand curling the end of his pink mustache and the other clutching the phone so tightly he thought he might break it, but the phone clicked off before he could let out a noise of protest.

** **

Scoffing in anger, letting his mouth fall open comically, Wilford threw the phone into his sink, watching as the glass shattered against the iron basin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Milk and Cookies try to slink past him, her tail swaying and her hackles raised high. "Oh no you don't!" He exclaimed, swooping down and scooping his disgruntled cat into his arms as he made a whooshing noise with his mouth. Letting out a chuckle, Wilford booped the noise of Milk and Cookies with his right index finger and laughed merrily, almost dropping the cat as she wiggled in his arms. "You're staying with dear old Warfy today, sweetie pie!" He cooed, glancing one more time in the mirror and at the small spots of red still visible on his arms and hands from last night before walking quickly to the door of the bathroom, "Now, let's get you some scrumptious and relatively cheap breakfast, little lady! Sausages sound good to you?"

** **

Wilford grasped the handle firmly and yanked the door open, beginning to hum a happy tune as he stepped through and shut the door behind him.

** **

And that was he realised he wasn't in his apartment anymore. 

** **

It took him a few moments of staring blankly at alI the walls surrounding him, his tune never wavering, before it dawned on him. Well kinda. Turning to look behind him with a confused expression, Wilford raised a brow when he read a sign next to the door he had just come out of that that said **Maintenance** . "Hmmmm," he hummed as he spun back on his heel to where he had been facing originally, his right hand stroking Milk and Cookies' soft fur absentmindedly as tiny sparks of pink glitter sprinkled around him and landed on his shoulders and his hair. "It appears… that I may have just _ teleported _…," he paused for a second before continuing with obnoxious snort as memories of popping into random places slowly trickled back into his conscious thought, '...AGAIN, it seems! Well, wouldn't ol' Jules Vern be PROUD!"

** **

Wilford laughed quietly at his own joke for a few seconds, bending over to allow the cat in his arms to drop to the floor, as he allowed the small sparkles to fall into his hand and melt away like they had never even been there in the first place. His chuckling grew in volume when he saw that. "Like _ SNOW _ ," he whispered excitedly, grinning at Milk and Cookies as she surveyed the backstage of **Warfstache Live** with wide, green eyes. She meowed and tried to swipe at her owner's hand when he poked her with a finger, the sparkles in his hand falling on to the floor and into a heap. Wilford sighed contentedly. He always LOVED IT when these sparkles would show up. "Someday, I think I would like to see snow again. And YOU would come with me, Milk and Cookies! You'd LOVE the snow, I can just feel it!"

** **

His cat just stared back with an unimpressed look before turning tail and walking away, her body disappearing between two cardboard boxes that Wilford _ definitely _ didn't remember purchasing. With a frown and a groan, the reporter stood up straight, his knees cracking back into place as he did, and narrowed his eyes at the boxes, trying really, really hard to remember if he actually HAD purchased those boxes and had just forgotten.

** **

Taking a step towards the packages, Wilford reached out a hand to touch the nearest one, just to make sure that the boxes were real and not all just in his head (there was NO NEED to repeat the incident with the clown and the tuna fish again) when he first heard the laughter. He paused, scrunching up his face and placing his outstretched hands on his hips, as he slowly turned in a circle and looked around the backstage area for the location of the noise. "Oh for Christ's sake," he slurred when he faced towards the boxes once more, leaning over and looking in between the precariously stacked packages to see if Milk and Cookies was still there. 

** **

There had been times where Wilford had heard voices before. In fact, it wasn't uncommon for the reporter to hear the sounds of applause and cheers while he was filming or when he was just going about his day to day activities. Normally, the crowd was rambunctious and laughed at everything Wilford said or did, which never failed to make him giggle or smile like an idiot. However, sometimes they were not so kind and decided to blame him for all sorts of ridiculous crimes, like MURDER or ARMED ROBBERY and other nonsense like that. The last time the crowd in his mind had turned on him, Wilford nearly shot Kathryn in the face with a pistol when she approached him to ask what he wanted for lunch. She didn't go near him for a week after THAT incident.

** **

As his thoughts concluded that the crowd in his mind was willing to play nice today, Wilford hummed happily and, spying his pesky feline at the far end of the creavese, reached his hand in between the boxes and pulled out a squirming and hissing Milk and Cookies by the scruff of her fur. "THERE you are!" he exclaimed while holding his cat close to his chest, his brown eyes widening when Milk and Cookies tried to take a swipe at his arm with her claws. Gasping, he dropped her and watched as she zoomed back into her hiding spot between the packages. "Oh ho ho! You think you can _ hide _ from me, hm?" Wilford slurred as he leaned over the boxes again and searched for his cat's glowing green eyes from the corner of her hiding place, "You, my dear feline friend, need to eat some breakfast! I need to eat some breakfast! We BOTH need to e-"

** **

The laughter appeared again, cutting off Wilford's words and making him scowl as he stood up straight again with a pout. "I didn't even get to FINISH my sentence!" He whined as he thwacked the side of his head with the heel of his hand and sighed loudly. He had already forgotten what he had been talking about. "_ Jesus. _ Where the HELL did that damn cat get to?" He made a move to bend over the boxes again when another torrent of laughter echoed throughout the backstage of **Warfstache Live**. 

** **

"Oh, what the BLOODY HELL now?!" He exclaimed as he turned on his heel, his arms opened wide as one dagger dangled dangerously from his left finger tips. More laughter swamped the cramped backstage, this time coming from the direction of curtains directly in front of the reporter that seemed to have light streaming out from underneath them. Wilford frowned and dropped his arms to his sides, Milk and Cookies quickly forgotten as questions swirled in his mind. "Wha-?" Wilford began, widening his eyes as he slowly took a couple uneasy steps towards the curtains, making sure that his dress shoes made no noise as he crept forward. The laughter sounded more and more mechanical the closer to the royal blue curtains he got.

** **

Carefully sliding his knife into his belt, Wilford peered carefully around the side of the nearest blue curtain and momentarily got blinded by the stage lights that shone down from overhead in surprise. "Why the _ Hell _ are my lights on?" he whispered in confusion as he blinked rapidly and looked to the side to see two men standing behind overly flashy podiums. One of the men stood like he was king of the world while the other was hunched over and acted like he was ready to die at any moment. Wilford narrowed his eyes at the two men and quickly grabbed his knife once again, taking a small step out from his hiding place as he thought with growing manic smile that these men were probably _ trespassing _ and would _ definitely _ need to be taught a lesson on _ etiquette _.

** **

But then the laughter, along with a smattering of clapping noises, started again, a loud booming noise that came straight from the speakers that were right above Wilford. He cringed and slid backwards, nearly dropping his knife and slipping on a black cable that ran across the floor and connected to the podiums. And then somebody started talking.

** **

"It seems that we might actually have a tie here!" A man's voice, smooth and crisp, came through the speaker next, the reporter below the black device peering out of the curtain with a curious expression as said man walked across the stage that was normally reserved for **Warfstache Live** . The tuxedo that the man was wearing was freshly pressed and his black hair was perfectly gelled from where Wilford was sitting and he listened with raised eyebrows and wide eyes as the man continued into a microphone, "Well, what do you know! We may need a tiebreaker right here! Luckily for you two, I have _ juuust _ the thing!"

** **

Though it was hard to see from his hiding spot, Wilford watched as the man motioned for one of his crew members to bring him a plate of hamburgers from the opposite side of the stage. As the man turned his head to whisper into his crew member's ear while the hamburgers were handed over, Wilford could clearly see a small amount of purple glitter dabbed across the man's cheeks whenever he smiled. As the crew member walked away, the man continued with obvious laughter in his voice, "Now, what I have for you two is a special delicacy that was delivered all the way from-" he faltered for a second, almost as if searching for a name before saying with confidence, "From Pakistan, of all places! They arrived just this morning and have been specially made for both. of. you!"

** **

By now, Wilford was beginning to get a little antsy, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the knife in his hands as he contemplated the many different ways he could stab and/or shoot the three men in front and then run as fast as he could out of the room and back home where he could feed Milk and…

** **

Milk and Cookies! Where was she?! 

** **

Gasping out loud, Wilford practically dove away from the curtain, almost tripping over the black cord again as well as almost cutting himself with his knife in his haste, and ran deeper into the recesses of the backstage area, trying to remember the last place he had seen his beloved feline. Come to think of it, how the Hell had he even gotten to his studio in the first place? He couldn't recall driving there earlier that day! The damn cat was probably at home, taking a nap and living her best life without having eaten any breakfast that morning! "Jesus Christ, Warfy! You didn't even FEED her, did you?!" Wilford growled in frustration, deciding to huck his knife at a cardboard box that sat directly in front of him, "COFOUND it, ma-"

** **

A very scared, very fast Milk and Cookies darted in front of the reporter with a hiss, the pink haired man's rant stopping in its tracks as he watched his cat dart through the curtain he had just been watching the man through and race onto the stage. He looked at the hole in the curtain for a second with pursed lips before slurring with a wave of his hand, "Not so bad of a Kitty Daddy NOW, ey?"

** **

And then, he was off like a shot, shooting through the royal blue curtain in hot pursuit of his beloved kitty cat… And, already having forgotten about the nearly blinding stage lights, promptly tripped over his feet and tumbled to the ground. Wilford let out a hiss of pain as his elbow smashed into the wooden ground of the stage, his knife appearing delicately in his other hand as he tried to get his bearings once again. He suddenly felt like he was going to throw up, the normal queasy feeling of being knocked over stirring in his stomach as a memory that Wilford was POSITIVE wasn't his leapt to the forefront of his mind. 

** **

_ Heat burned his face as he struggled to stand once more, several pieces of shrapnel from the explosion above him tearing into his leg everytime he moved. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the side of the trench he was sitting in and hoisted himself up from the ground, making sure to keep his head below the trenchline so that he wouldn't get shot by enemy fire. Dirt blew into his eyes and mouth as another shell blew up directly behind him, his hearing briefly fading to a dull ringing before returning very slowly. Over the din of the battle raging above, somebody was trying to speak to him, their voice muffled and distorted and full of panic. _

** **

_ "Colonel! Sir, are you alright!? Colonel!" _

** **

And then the memory was gone and all that was left was the remnants of dirt in Wilford's mouth and the sound of the panicked man's words in his ears. He blinked and sat up straighter, his mouth pursing as he scrunched up his face and tried to remember… Something. Something he thought, no _ knew _, was important. Tears pricked at the edge of his widening eyes, clutching the knife he had been holding onto even tighter and hutching over himself in despair. "...can't- Colonel? What- what does-?" Wilford mumbled to himself, completely forgetting about the stage and about the other people in the room who were undoubtedly watching his meltdown.

** **

"-adies and gentlemen, it seems that we have our winner!" Even through his own voices screaming inside his head, Wilford could still hear the man with the microphone talking to his… contestants? Was that what they were? Is he a game show host? What the bloody Hell were they doing using HIS STAGE for a GAME SHOW? The reporter's thoughts stopped racing and the tears stopped forming at the corners of his red and puffy eyes as the answer came to him like a bolt of lightning. 

** **

He laughed a watery laugh and smiled wide. "Oh Kathy, Kathy, Kathy! You're a fucking GENIUS, Kathy!" Wilford exclaimed excitedly, practically jumping to his feet and spinning on his heel to face the remaining 'contestants' and the game show host behind the podiums that had been set up to the far right of the stage.

** **

The man from earlier that had looked dejected was standing a few feet away from the podiums, his hands shoved deep into his tan pockets as he watched the other contestant smile smugly at the cameras at the bottom of the stage. Wilford smiled even wider and waved his hand in greeting when the brunet's eyes roamed over to him with curiosity lurking beneath their surface. The reporter was honestly surprised that nobody had noticed him yet or at least had SEEMED like they hadn't noticed him yet; the show had continued on smoothly even when he had practically face planted onto the middle of the stage.

** **

The host of the show, his smile all bright teeth, had taken the spot of the brunet behind the podium and had placed a hand around the winner's waist, turning to the cameras in front of him with a laugh before stating, "Everyone give Patrick a big round of applause for being spectacular in every form of the word," he shot the winner, Patrick, a charming smile, "and for winning his job interview! My name is Bim Trimmer and this has been another episode _ ooof… _ **Hire My Ass**!"

** **

A smattering of real applause from the camera crew mingled with the fake sound effects overhead as the show ended, Wilford watching with a cocked head as Bim promptly ignored the brunet that had been eliminated and focused all of his attention on Patrick, leaning forward and seemingly whispering something into the winner's ear with a grin that was borderline predatorily. Twirling the knife in between his fingers, Wilford watched as the lights overhead switched off, leaving the stage in a comfortable glowing light that he was so accustomed to whenever he did an interview. Wilford chuckled and practically skipped over to where Bim and Patrick were talking, watching out of the corner of his eye as the camera crew stopped what they were doing and openly stared at the reporter.

** **

"A DARESAY, that was QUITE the show, good sir!" Wilford said as he stopped in front of the podium Bim was standing behind, his smile faltering just slightly when he saw Bim's face drop from charming to annoyed in a matter of seconds. 

** **

Resting his elbows on the top of the podium, the reporter watched as Bim quickly smoothed out his expression with a relaxed smile and pushed his glasses higher up onto the bridge of his nose. "Thank you so much! That truly means a lot coming from a fan!" Bim practically beamed at Wilford before he turned back to Patrick and mumbled something low in his ear, his hand sliding up and down the winner's back twice before he removed it completely and stepped away. Patrick looked momentarily stunned before nodding his head with a ditzy smile and heading off stage, one of the camera men pointing to the direction of the offices with a nod. Brushing a hand down the front of his suit, Bim turned back to Wilford and held out his hand while smiling brightly. "Bim Trimmer. How are you today on this lovely morning?" he asked with a wink, Wilford grinning wide as he let his knife vanish out of existence and grabbed Bim's hand.

** **

Shaking hands roughly, Wilford slurred, "My name is _ Wilford Warfstache _ . Reporter extraordinaire and all of _ that _ ." Bim's eyes glinted with recognition as he squeezed Wilford's hand and nodded his head, a few strands of his inky hair escaping its gelled trap and falling in front of his eyes. Raising a brow, Wilford reached out the hand that wasn't still holding Bim's and brushed the strands to the side, focusing intently with his tongue slightly sticking out of his mouth as the game show host watched with a smirk. Retracting his hand and refocusing on Bim, Wilford continued with an enthusiastic smile, "I actually have _ something _ I'd like to ask you…"

** **

"Oh _ really _?" Bim all but purred his response as he slowly walked around the podium he had been standing behind and stood in front of Wilford, the hand that was holding the reporter's drawing small circles into the skin with his thumb. Now, it wasn't uncommon AT ALL for Wilford to be in these types of situations on the daily, especially when he went out dancing at the local 80's themed disco club in downtown LA. And had it been any other day, the reporter probably would have flirted right back with the game host and would have probably slept with him too since Bim didn't seem too shy in making his intentions clear. HOWEVER… today Wilford had a mission. Kathy had set all of this up for him just so he could ask someone with a lot game showing experience what to do to begin his own show! By GOD, she was SUCH a sweet woman and Wilford was not going to screw up this up when OPPORTUNITY was LITERALLY right in front of him.

** **

Chuckling softly, Wilford gently removed his hand from Bim's grasp and, watching Bim's eyes narrow as their hands broke away, said goodnaturedly, "I wanted to ask about the LOVELY show you have, old sport! You see, I have my _ own _ little idea that I've been toying with for the past day and a half and I wanted a professional opinion on it! From a professional!" He added on the last part for empathise, waving his hands at the game show host in front of him excitedly before clapping them together and bouncing back onto the heels of his shoes as he awaited Bim's answer.

** **

Bim looked at Wilford with a mixture of understanding and agitation in his eyes, his own body fidgeting as he played with one of the cuffs of his suit and occasionally glanced around Wilford towards the exit. Wilford glanced around too, seeing that the office doors had been opened. He turned back to Bim and was met with another feral smile, the game show host's hand coming to rest on his shoulder as he leaned forward and whispered silkily in Wilford's ear, "I would _ love _ to answer all your questions, hon. Truly I would. But, if you'll excuse me, I have _ something _ I have to take care of first." He clapped the confused reporter on the shoulder once before walking past him, heading towards the office doors as remnants of purple glitter swirled through the air in his wake. 

** **

The doors to the office slammed shut as Bim walked through, Wilford pouting slightly as he walked over to one of his chairs for **Warfstache Live** that had been shoved to the side of the stage and slumped into it. Sighing in an exasperated manner, the reporter took out his knife and twirled it absentmindedly between his fingers, watching the blade dance across each finger and nearly slice him with rapture. A small purring noise could be heard from under his chair and, frowning in confusion, Wilford leaned over the side of his chair and gasped before smiling widely at who he saw.

** **

"Milk and Cookies! How in the BLAZES did YOU get here, you naughty kitty!"


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Bim finally returned to the stage, Wilford had completely carved up the chair he had been sitting in, the white cushioning flung everywhere on set, and was currently working on carving his name into the side of the stage, his knife in hand and legs swinging back and forth off the edge of the wooden platform like a child on a swing. His tongue was stuck out in concentration, Milk and Cookies sitting gingerly by his side as she watched her owner wreak the ten thousand dollar stage below him. Hearing the clicking of expensive shoes on the wooden floor boards in front of him, Wilford looked up, removing his knife from the wood in the process, and slid off the stage with a grin when he saw the game show host walking towards him with a pleasant expression on his face. A hamburger was in his left hand with several bites already in it.

"Ah! THERE you are, Mister Trimmer!" Wilford called with a laugh, his eyes watching as Bim took another bite of his burger before offering a closed lipped smile in Wilford's direction. The reporter's stomach growled as the scent of the freshly cooked hamburger wafted in front of him. He hadn't eaten that morning, had he? Making a clicking noise with his tongue, Wilford continued goodnaturedly with a nod at the hamburger, "That smells  _ quite _ good! Might I inquire where you got that hamburger, as I unfortunately have missed breakfast this morning and am absolutely FAMISHED?"

Taking a glance at the burger in his hand, Bim wiped the side of his mouth with the end of his sleeve before stating plainly through the bite of hamburger he had in his mouth, "Uh- I brought it with me from home?" He turned to Wilford, who was casually leaning against the stage with a curious expression adorning his features, before shoving the rest of the hamburger into his mouth and continuing sloppily, " _ Soo- _ I don't have anymore. Trust me, you wouldn't like it even if I had another and offered it to you"

"Aha! You must be one of those VEGAN people, right?! With the all natural ingredients and those  _ plant based _ pattys, right?!"

Wilford beamed from where he leaned comfortably, happy with his deduction as he watched Bim stroll up beside him and hop onto the stage next to him with ease. Deciding to follow suit, the reporter practically flung himself backwards onto the stage before sitting up and resuming his original position with his feet dangling over the sides of the platform. He felt his knife itch at the tips of his fingers, but it never appeared. Bim smiled brightly at Wilford's comment as he crossed his legs and said while brushing off the front of his suit once more, "You could say something like that, I guess."

"I bloody KNEW IT!"

That made Bim laugh, his head thrown back as the melodious noise came soaring out of his lips. Wilford grinned and laced his fingers together in his lap. Ah yes. He liked this man. Once he had finally relaxed, the game show host looked at the reporter and said with a laugh, "I don't know how we have never met before when we _literally_ _share_ a studio space! When's your show on again?"

Wilford let his knife finally materialize in his hand as he replied shortly, "Later then yours, I suppose." Running the pad of his thumb over the bladed edge, Wilford heard Bim hum in agreement and the room fell into a comfortable silence as the reporter's thoughts stumbled over one another in his mind. Hadn't he wanted to ask Bim someth- Oh right. His knife slipped and his thumb was almost cut as he remembered with a grin. "So…"

"So," Bim replied, straightening his glasses as his face molded itself like putty from it's neutral expression into one that resembled a well fed cat, "To what do I owe the pleasure of having  _ THE Wilford Warfstache _ come visit my show in the middle of it's recording!" Purple glitter flew off of him as he talked enthusiastically and ran a hand through his gelled hair, no doubt trying to make it neater then it already was.

Running his palm over the cool blade once and then twice, Wilford felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk as he said cheekily, "Why, nothing! I just wanted to meet YOU, of course! I watched your debut on whatever-his-name-is' YouTube channel and I was absolutely ENTHRALLED with your performance!" That was a lie, but… He couldn't really remember  _ why _ he had shown up to the studio that morning other than to talk to Kathy about his game show. Seeing Bim had been just a happy little accident. 

Turning to look at the game show host in front of him, Wilford noted with interest that Bim's cheeks had a dusting of pink painted across them and that his eyes had averted downwards towards the floor. Something unrecognizable crossed the game show host's features and then he laughed and gave Wilford a handsome look. "Quite the compliment!" Bim chuckled, shifting a tiny bit closer as Wilford raised his eyebrows at him and gripped his knife all the tighter. After all, he had only just met the man two hours ago. Seemingly noting this, Bim slid backwards a tiny bit and placed his hands on his lap. "I'm glad that I got to meet you as well! Your shows are always  _ interesting _ to watch, if you catch my drift." He winked again and shot Wilford another dazzling smile.

"You'll have to come onto the show sometime!" Wilford exclaimed in return, loosening his hold on his knife as he slowly twirled it between his fingers in thought, "I sure would LOVE to interview you. It'd make for a SMASHING story, that I can  _ promise _ !"

Bim's expression dropped, his eyes flashing to something behind Wilford's head before they refocused on the reporter with a hardness that DEFINITELY had not been present before. This time when he smiled, it was obvious that it was forced. "Wasn't there something you wanted to ask me?" He asked tightly, Wilford raising a brow in curiosity as the entire atmosphere of the room changed in a second. 

He had to force down the urge to grin in triumph as he felt his knife disappear from his hand once more and he twirled the end of his pink mustache between his pointer finger and thumb. The reporter leveled down the game show host in front of him, now visibly uncomfortable, before slurring a messy reply, "Why YES. As a matter of fact, Mister Trimmer, I do indeed have a question for you." Pausing to remember what exactly he was going to ask with a scrunched up face, Wilford wallowed in his small victory over the extremely flirtatious Bim Trimmer by smiling wickedly as he remembered his question. Bim's eyes narrowed in response as he practically scowled at the reporter. 

"So you see, I want to create my own game show for…  _ personal _ reasons," even though he forgot all of the important shit he absolutely  _ needed _ to remember almost immediately after thinking about it, the dark man and the name 'Celine' was still coiled at the forefront of his thoughts, "And then create a whole tv network spinning OFF from that," Wilford's voice was becoming more and more excited the longer he talked about his plan, Bim very obviously becoming less anxious and more smiley as Wilford continued to talk, "And then… Well, I don't know what I'll do then. But it'll be FANTASTIC, whatever it is! Nonetheless, my question for you is what do I do to begin my  _ lifelong _ dream of beginning a game show?"

By the time Wilford had finished explaining the ah… very _ , very _ beginning stages of his plan, all out of breath and grinning a manic smile, Bim was nodding along enthusiastically and was practically bouncing from his spot on the stage. "That's so cool, Wil! Can I call you Wil? Ah, whatever! You just say the word and I won't call you anything other then the Wonderful Wilford Warfstache because I'm just curdious like that! Anyway, what are you planning on calling your show? Have you planned out the scripts because, I don't know if you know this or not, I need to be able to know about the contestants before the show. It's kinda weird, but it helps me relax and be able to do more improv during  **Hire My Ass, ** so-" Bim's questions came rushing out all at once, his eyes bright while purple glitter flew from his sleeves as he waved his arms around excitedly. 

Wilford, who had to duck out of the way of a flying limb on multiple occasions, could barely process what Bim was saying, lifting Milk and Cookies onto his lap and stroking her slowly as he listened with only half of his interest. It wasn't until the room fell into silence again, without a doubt because Bim had stopped talking, that the reporter looked up from his cat and was met with the cocked head of the game show host looking at him expectantly. Ah shit. He had asked something, hadn't he? "Ah- Yes? Yes to all of those  _ lovely _ questions you just asked," Wilford slurred uneasily, letting Milk and Cookies slide of his lap and slink backstage as he widened his eyes and grinned widely, "I trust that whatever you just said was a wonderful suggestion, dearie!"

Bim giggled at that, pushing up his black framed glasses higher onto his nose before leaning backwards with his palms laying flat on the floor to hold him up and asking excitedly, "Then you'll let me be the host for your game show? That would be just terrific, Wil! I know I would be  _ soo _ good at that job!"

It took a massive amount of self control that, quite frankly, Wilford was very proud of if he did say so himself to resist the urge to slap Bim across the face and scream that HE was the one running the game show 'cause it was HIS idea in the first place! But instead, the reporter just replied by quickly nodded his head and allowing a little, "mhmm!" to escape his lips. Bim seemed to light up when Wilford did this, flashing his normal charming smile at the pink haired reporter and sitting up straight once again. Yep. That was going to come back and bite him in the ass later.

"That's really nice of you! You're so sweet!" Bim gushed before he shifted his gaze away from Wilford and stating dreamily, "I can literally see it now! A whole channel on cable and then maybe on Netflix too, if we're lucky! God, this'll be so  _ fun _ !"

"Of COURSE it will!" Wilford exclaimed, grabbing onto Bim's forearm with his hand and sliding off the stage with Bim in tow. They both burst into laughter when the reporter almost slipped upon hitting the floor, the game show host placing an arm around Wilford's shoulders to help steady him while he righted himself. The pink haired man chuckled as he slurred, "So come along, old chap! We have a CHANNEL to create!" Practically dragging Bim behind him as he marched towards the office doors, Wilford's thoughts moved from all the amazing plans he had for his new channel and game show to the dark man once more. He hoped that the man would notice what he was doing for him and would maybe… just maybe… want to talk to him about… stuff. The reporter wasn't quite sure what he wanted to discuss with the dark man; he kinda just wanted to see if he was as real and magnetic as Wilford had imagined. Once the moment was upon him, Wilford was sure he could think of something to talk about, even if it was  _ just  _ the bloody weather, goddammit!

"--e'll, of course, have to come up with a bunch of shows we could put on air, you know? Can't have a channel with only  _ one _ show! I can promote it a little on  **Hire My Ass** and you can too on  **Warfstache Live** , but we're gonna need a bigger platform to get lots and LOTS of people watching--"

"What the Hell are you _blathering on_ _about_ back there?" Wilford paused right outside the office entrance, noting that one of the doors slightly ajar as he turned to look at Bim with his hands on his hips and scowl on his face. He was trying real hard to think of something to say, something witty, to the dark man when he would meet him hopefully, but the incessant chatter that was going on in his ears was making it hard to focus.

Scowling, Wilford watched as the game show host smiled sheepishly and brushed his rouge strands of hair to side once again. "I was just GOING to say, before I was so rudely interrupted," he gave Wilford a pointed look and placed his own hands on his hips, "that we should pitch this idea to Mark, once it's all written of course, and he can create it on his channel where over 19 million people will see it. That'll give us the view count we need for sure." Gasping suddenly, Bim snapped his fingers and continued excitedly, "And I know JUST the people to help film it! And they work  _ really _ close to Dark, so we can try to rope all the others into it was well!"

Though he didn't completely understand the last bit of what Bim just said, Wilford nodded along before chiming in, " _ I _ know people as well who would DIE for a chance to make this channel a reality! Perhaps you've met Kathryn before? She's a hoot; You'll love her!" Smiling happily as a wave of reassurance washed over him, the reporter continued as he snapped his suspenders, "Is old Markiplier back from the dead ALREADY? Gosh, it feels like only  _ yesterday _ I stabbed him thirty six times in the stomach! They bounce back so BLOODY FAST, don't they?" The best part about killing people in Wilford's opinion was seeing how long it took for them to arrive back at work. Sometimes it took them months, sometimes even years, but this fellow had only been dead for a day and already he was back on his feet!

Slapping Bim's arm with a chuckle, Wilford spun on his heel and closed the distance between himself and the office doors, reaching out a hand to grab the door knob as Bim responded, "Yes well… He is  _ technically _ our creator, so, I mean, life and death probably have different effects on him then on anyone else…" Suddenly, the reporter was sharply pulled away from the door, letting out a squeak as he flailed and pinwheeled his arms to correct his imperfect balance. Bim carefully slid past Wilford and slammed the door of the office shut, giving Wilford an apologetic smile while backing away and saying almost nervously, "My office is down the hall, actually. There's nothing in there other than editing equipment and boom mics, trust me."

Pursing his lips and snapping his suspenders twice in thought, Wilford, his reporter senses tingling, smirked and said smugly, "Ah! I see, Mister Trimmer. Well in THAT case, lead the way to your office, good sir! We have got to start writing that script and show list of mine!" Linking his arm with Bim's, they both began walking down the hallway in tandem. Wilford grinned as a flurry of show ideas flew through his head. "And then, once it's completed, it'll be time to visit our dear old friend, Markiplier."

That time when he said the name, it left a bitter taste in his mouth and an uneasy feeling in his stomach. But, just as quickly as Milk and Cookies dashed in front of the two new partners chasing a tiny mouse, his thoughts were gone and replaced with his regularly scheduled programming of cotton candy and gunshots.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Knock, knock! _

Lowering his hand from the door with a smirk, Wilford bounced back on the heels of his feet and waited not so patiently for someone to answer the door, his eyes roaming all over the apartment complex and eventually onto the honey colored door in front of him once more. In his hands he held in a tight grip the script for  **Markiplier TV ** (he had come up with the name himself) he and Bim had LITERALLY just finished typing up twenty-five minutes prior. It had been fun to write something so fun and lighthearted compared to the boring old interview questions he had to always ask on  **Warfstache Live** . 

Bim had been a  _ hoot _ to work with as well, always bringing food to their writing sessions along with constantly making Wilford feel like he was gonna bust a gut from laughing too hard. 'Course, there was the occasional odd remark, especially concerning the office room or where the game show host had gotten his food from, but as IF Wilford Warfstache could be a  _ judge of character _ ! He'd a damn hypocrite if he talked such NONSENSE! He scoffed at the thought and, raising a brow, waited approximately another ten seconds before knocking on the door once again with more force.

_ Bam, bam, bam! _

"Jesus Christ. Alright, alright! I'll be there in just a minute!"

Not five seconds later, the door opened to reveal a short man with a shock of blue hair covering the top of his head and two deep bags hanging under his eyes. He was wearing a robe and slip on sandals, something that would've looked ridiculous if it wasn't FIVE O'CLOCK in the morning. Wilford smiled wider as the man leaned against the door and gave the pink haired man in front of him a dirty look, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits as he looked up and down Wilford's attire with distaste. "Really Mark?" The blue haired man stated with annoyance, Wilford's head cocking to the side as he tried to keep his thoughts in order and forget about the shivers of regret that went coursing down his spine whenever he heard the name of his creator.

It hadn't been like that the first few times he had heard the name 'Markiplier' or 'Mark'. It only just started occurring when Bim and him had begun working on the script for  **Markiplier TV** , when Wilford heard the name splashed around by his excitable co-writer every time he went to type something on the company computer. He had done more research as a result, diving further and further into the youtuber's gaming videos along with watching and rewatching the "Egos" (for that was what Mark called his creations) debut appearances almost religiously. 

In fact, just earlier that day, Wilford had found interviews and shows and episodes of  **Warfstache Live ** he didn't even remember filming from a long,  _ long _ time ago. The reporter had stared at the screen with a dead look in his eyes after watching the final clip, hands shaking and mind racing as he desperately tried to connect the missing pieces of memory scrambled inside his mind. It took Bim throwing a handful of purple glitter into his face with a laugh and shoving the  **Markiplier TV** script into his hands to get Wilford to snap out of his daze.

Wilford felt a sharp poke in his shoulder blade as he was snapped back to reality, his hands practically crumbling the script as he gave the man in front of him a lopsided grin while the man pulled back his finger with a frown. "Good MORNING, sir!" Wilford said cheerfully, reaching out his hand and grabbing the blue haired man's in a welcoming grip. The man practically yelped when the reporter shook their hands aggressively, the script now tucked under his arm while he jostled the man around his door frame. Letting go of the man's hand, Wilford reached up one hand and twirled the end of his pink mustache before saying confidently, "My name is  _ Wilford Warfstache _ , night time host of  **Warfstache Live** ," he leaned in a tiny bit closer, "Are you an employee of Markiplier?"

The man scoffed and, folding his arms casually, replied with a roll of his eyes, "Okay, wow. I know you said that you wanted to do another Ego Video soon, but this-" he gestured to Wilford's shirt with a lost expression on his face before continuing with a laugh, "I dunno, man. This seems like a  _ bit _ much."

The man made a move to close the door, muttering something along the lines of _come back in six hours_, but, at the last second, the reporter stuck his foot in between the door and the door frame, preventing the door from closing all the way. His smile grew manic. He didn't have the damnedest notion what this _kid_ was talking about, but he _certainly_ didn't like it. And he had been frowning far too much. Somebody might just need to be tickled with his knife. "You see, friend," he began lowly, holding the paper in one hand and his obscured knife in the other, "It isn't polite for you to hear MY name and then for you NOT to return the favor! Come now, old sport! To whom do I have the PLEASURE of getting to know today!"

The blue haired man sighed audibly and looked at the ceiling, scratching at his jaw with his left hand before saying tiredly, "It's literally, like, five in the morning right now, you asshole! It's too early for this shit!" He tried to close the door again, Wilford's tolerance for the man's stupidly falling more and more by the second as he planted his foot onto the ground with more force and gave the man an annoyed look. Goddammit! If only he could just… make the man smile and understand that all he NEEDED to do was to  _ listen _ to him for two  _ bloody _ seconds and then he would be gone forever! Yanking the door a few times as if to test how strong Wilford's foot was, the man groaned and, rubbing both his eyes with his fists, yawned out, "Fine. My name is Ethan Nestor and no. I am NOT an employee of Markiplier; I just happen to be friends with him and help him film from time to time."

"Ooo! I KNOW someone like you!" Wilford butt in, his thoughts instantly drifting to Kathryn and how she helps produce and edit his show. Only difference was that he actually PAID her to work with him since no one else would. Barely batting an eye, Wilford's knife disappeared once again to  _ God _ knows where and he held the script tightly in both of his hands. Ethan's eyes drifted to the papers, the blue haired man stepping forward to get a closer look at the script as Wilford removed his foot from the door to let it swing shut gently. He also noted that Ethan was now in stabbing range, but he shoved THAT feeling down into his gut as he chuckled and stepped away from Ethan. "Ah, ah, ah! Wait just a second! I thought you said you wouldn't be interested in this here script until dawn broke, Mister Nestor!" He chortled happily, receiving a look of exasperation from the man in question as he grabbed the script from Wilford's hand.

"Uh, I actually never said that," Ethan replied mildly, thumbing his way through the thirty something pages of the script before letting the paper fold back to the cover page, "Wow.  ** _Markiplier_ ** ** TV** ? Egotistically much?" He grinned after he said that and held out the script back to Wilford, seemingly expecting the reporter to take back the papers. "It's a cool idea. It'll be hard as Hell to film, but you know what? I accept the challenge."

Wilford giggled and held up his hands as if in surrender, nodding his head at the papers being handed back to him before replying fiddly, "Those papers are actually for YOU, old chap! For you to use when you start filming tomorrow! Or today, depending on how you look at it. But all the same, filming should start soon! The  _ sooner _ the  _ better _ !" He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't stop the splurge of words tumbling from his lips as he tried to empathise the  _ importance _ of starting to film as  _ quickly  _ as possible. Because the sooner  **Markiplier TV** was done filming, the sooner Wilford would get to meet the dark man. And he wanted to meet the dark man SO BAD.

Ethan blinked a few times, looked at the script in his hand, looked back up at Wilford, who had moved his hands to his suspenders and were snapping the pink bands rhythmically, and then looked back down at the script. His mouth opened and shut a few times before he finally yawned widely and nodded his head, shuffling backwards to his apartment door and placing his hand on the doorknob. Wilford watched him open his door curiously, temptation telling him to just remind the blue haired man in front of him  _ one more time _ that he needed to start filming NOW. Ethan beat him to the punch though, stating softly with a yawn, "...Sure. Just give me a couple more hours of sleep and then I'll call Tyler and we can get started with," he waved the floppy script around in his hand, "whatever the Hell this is. I'll swing by your house around 1. That sound good?"

"That sounds  _ delightful _ ," Wilford cooed, watching as Ethan nodded with his mouth in a firm line before he turned towards the door and took a step forward. The reporter, unable to resist, said one final thing to the man in front of him with a genuine smile, "I ADORE that blue color in your hair by the way!"

Ethan turned and give Wilford a strange look before saying uneasily, "Yeah… It's not like I've had this hair color for like months or anything," he laughed shallowly, "I like your hair too, Mark. Very… pink." And with that, the blue haired man slipped into his door and shut it firmly behind him, Wilford hearing the clicking sounds of locks as he put his hands into his pockets with a sigh.

  
Everything was going perfectly, something that very  _ rarely _ happened to Wilford 'Motherloving' Warfstache. He was so content based solely on the fact that he had given the script to Ethan successfully that he didn't even mind that he had called him his creator's name… again. Sure, it still sent shivers down his spine to hear the name, but the euphoria of doing his job correctly numbed most of his discomfort. Breathing in the early morning air, the sun barely beginning to rise in the east as it painted the sky in purples and oranges, Wilford chuckled softly and skipped out of the apartment complex, his mind far away as excitement buzzed like busy bees in his veins. 


	5. Chapter 5

The office building was a lot larger than Wilford had anticipated, his annoyance growing larger each time he arrived at a wrong room, normally filled with regular old business people that just glared at him, or took a wrong turn and ended up at the front desk once again. By his thirty-ninth time, the receptionist, whose name began with an S that sounded  _ wonderful _ on the reporter's tongue, knew the pink haired man's face and name by heart. "Let me guess," the S Lady began, watching as Wilford trudged over to the desk before sighing and practically throwing himself over the counter dramatically, "You went to the East Wing again?"

"HOW IN THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU KNOW!?" Wilford exclaimed as he stared astonishingly at the pretty lady in front of him, taking a not so subtle look at her cleavage before continuing as he covered his face with both hands, "It's like a  _ MAZE _ ! A BLOODY MAZE! I don't know HOW you can just  _ trapeze _ all over this damn place everyday, but lo and behold!" He gestured to the lady vaguely with his right hand, peeking through the fingertips of his left hand to see the woman laughing pleasantly in front of him. He frowned and removed his hand from his face, resting both elbows on the stony counter in front of him before raising an eyebrow. 

He was actually having a crisis and this woman was just giggling like nothing was wrong.  _ That _ was not okay. Almost on instinct, he envisioned shooting the woman in front of him, her bloody corpse leaving red stains across the tiled floor as he dragged her outside and threw into a dumpster in order to get rid of the evidence. Wilford imagined himself laughing, clutching at his hair as his manic chuckles turned into hacking sobs and thick tear drops began to course down his cheeks…

_ He could feel the gun fall from his hand, the silver metal glinting in the dying sun as it slammed against the asphalt. Sirens screamed in the background. But he couldn't really move. Couldn't look away from the dumpster where he had hidden the receptionists body. Couldn't look away as the alley melted around him and turned into a beautiful manor parlor that was suddenly drenched in blood. Couldn't look away as Abe the Detective rushed down the stairs and, spotting Wilford on a cushioned bench with his silver gun at his feet, immediately pointed his own pistol at the reporter once again. Couldn't look away from the body of the man he had just shot; a man that not only  _ he _ had trusted, but that also Damien had trust- _

Damien.

DAMIEN.

Who the Hell was  _ Damien _ ?!

A squeak of terror interrupted his thoughts, the manor scene fading around him and turned back into the reality of the boring, old office building. Wilford blinked his eyes quite a few times before looking at the woman in front of him with a tired expression, her face, her absolutely  _ lovely _ face, pulled into an expression of pure horror as the silver gun quivering in Wilford's hand leveled at her head. The reporter blinked, looked at the gun in his hand with a curious expression, and then, as if a light switch had been flipped in his brain, a manic smile spread across his face, strands of pink falling into his eyes as he shifted his gaze from his gun to the receptionist once more.

He could still feel tears dripping down his cheeks and on to the desk in front of him as he chuckled and said happily, "I think you're going to  _ need _ to tell me where to go  _ once again. _ I really am QUITE forgetful." He looked at the pink watch on his wrist as he clicked the gun into place, a small whimper escaping the woman's mouth, and whispered excitedly, "I would suggest you speak QUICKLY, my dear! I have a MEETING to get too!"

\---

Finally,  _ finally _ , Wilford found Room 1702, practically skipping down the hall as he whistled "Walking On Sunshine" and snapped his fingers to the beat before stopping outside the room with a grin. The reporter could see perfectly through the glass doors in front of him, his eyes trailing over the beige colored room with disinterest before they landed on the only occupant of the room, a land line in one hand as the man twirled the cable around his opposite finger over and over again. A half eaten hamburger sat unfinished on the wooden table in front of him.

Grinning widely, Wilford shoved open the doors with a screech and strolled into the conference room, Bim shooting him a dazzling smile and a nod before returning to his conversation with whoever was on the other end of his phone call. "Yeah, yeah. I understand that your business is important, Ed," Bim stated with agitation creeping into his voice, the reporter plopping himself into a plush black chair that he started swiveling in almost immediately after sitting in. He blinked and his gun was in his hand once again, a rag appearing in his other hand as he started to clean the now dirtied weapon. He continued to whistle his song whilst spinning and cleaning.

"Ed, I swear to God, you fucking better show up to this meeting or so help me…" Bim's rant pittered off as this 'Ed' character talked, the game show host's hand growing whiter as he gripped the phone ever tighter in his hand. He rolled his eyes and made a face before replying with a sickly sweet voice, "It'll take less then an  _ hour _ , Eddie! You can spare an hour, right!? Plus, you'll get to meet  _ plenty _ of new people, myself included! And there'll be free food! Lots and lots of free food!" As if reminded that there was a hamburger in front of him, Bim unwound his finger from the phone cord and picked up his burger. He took a huge bite out of it, the red juices that were contained within running down his chin, before continuing with a muffled voice, "Ed, you're gonna have to leave that stupid job of yours some day. Minus well be now so that you can reap the benefits and maybe get a  _ fifteenth share  _ of the rewards~"

Wilford stopped his spinning by placing on foot on the table in front of him, jumping between watching himself clean his gun and watching Bim smirk at the phone with a smile that was too damn attractive to not be intentional. Not that it mattered anyway, since the person on the other end of the phone couldn't actually  _ see _ the game show host. It was probably just a force of habit. Finally, Bim laughed and replied smoothly, "Absolutely! You just show up and I'll talk to the old Darky Dark about your fifteen share!" 

He paused, a pad of paper and pen appearing in a shower of purple sparkles in front of him with a bunch of words written on it. Curious, the reporter leaned forward and could clearly read the words  _ King of The Squirrels _ ,  _ Dr. Edward Iplier _ ,  _ The Host _ , and something so scrawled that Wilford couldn't read it clearly. Bim picked up the pen and wrote something down on the pad, nodding along with the phone and occasionally making noises of affirmation before saying brightly, "That sounds fantastic! Alright. I'll call you back when the show is all ready! No, no, I'll call  _ you _ ." The game show host slammed the phone back into its cradle, groaning loudly as he leaned back in his own black chair and rubbed at his eyes with his palms. "Jesus CHRIST!" Bim whined as he sat up straight and, taking his hamburger into hand, bit into the burger with a glint in his eye, "That man is SOO STUBBORN! I've been on the phone for, like, two and a half hours!"

"That's funny," Wilford chimed in, removing his foot from the table as he felt the weight of his gun evaporate from his hand, "I think I may have spent that same amount of time trying to get to this office in the first place, old sport!" He chuckled and shuffled forward in his seat, smirking as he saw Bim wolf down the rest of his burger in less then two bites. "Good GOD man! That hungry, are we?"

The game show host licked his fingers before huffing and saying sourly, "I wouldn't be if I hadn't been on the phone for two  _ fucking _ hours. I literally missed  _ lunch _ . I watched the minutes tick by with  _ anguish _ ." He stood up from his chair and walked over to the glass doors, Wilford turning to keep his eyes on the man in front of him as he looked up and down the hallway with a concerned look. Looking back at Wilford, Bim turned and placed both hands on his hips, blowing a piece of hair out of his face before asking with a grin, "How'd the pitch go?! You never told me!"

Wilford's mouth split into a large grin as he slurred, "Why, it went SMASHINGLY! I met a man who took the script right away and he  _ promised _ to start filming Markiplier TV as soon as possible!" The reporter slapped his knee before chuckling and spinning in his chair once again, the charming smile on Bim's face growing as he heard the good news. "These chairs are  _ quite _ fun, Mister Trimmer! You should try 'em sometime!"

Bim laughed out loud at that, his white teeth flashing as he removed one hand from his hip to push up his glasses as they slipped down his nose. The dashing black suit he was wearing pulled taunt across his chest and shoulders as he placed his hands behind head and replied with a smirk, "Oh I  _ have _ used those chairs before, hon. Just not in the way you think~" He winked at the end of his sentence, turning back towards the hallway with a contented smile as Wilford planted his feet on the ground, stopping his spinning chair in its tracks, and let out a snort through his nose.

The reporter leaned back in his chair once again, pinwheeling his arms as a mixture between a yelp and a chuckle escaped his lips after nearly falling backwards and onto his neck. His knife, a red bow now tied onto the end of the hilt, appeared in his palm and Wilford absentmindedly carved the words  _ Celine _ and  _ Damien _ (his now very  _ important _ , very  _ special _ words) into the underside of his leather seat. "You told me that we were SUPPOSED to be MEETING someone today! Someone that would HELP with Markiplier TV!" Wilford observed, halfway through his twelve time writing Celine as he glanced at Bim with narrowing eyes, "Where in the  _ BLOODY HELL _ are they?"

Bim looked at Wilford, his few strands of gelled hair falling into his face once again, and opened his mouth to say something, but a loud crash and the sound of shouting voices cut him off. Wilford just  _ barely _ managed to not slip out of his chair as the game show host frowned and ripped open the glass doors, peering out into the hallway as he shouted, "The Hell is wrong with you four! We're in a PUBLIC BUILDING! Act like ADULTS!" Sitting up in his chair slowly, his knife disappearing quickly into thin air, Wilford twisted the end of his pink mustache with an uncommon frown contorting his facial features.

Rising slowly, the reporter walked over to where the red faced Bim was standing with his hands tucked deep into his black suit pockets, trotting past the game show host and peering into the hallway himself. Among the complete chaos of camera and sound equipment that now littered the hall stood four men, two wearing light blue shirts and two wearing shirts of the sparkly and dark blue variety. They all looked worse for wear, two of them arguing and waving their arms around like they were Muppets while another one of them wailed about the broken camera he had in his hands and the other poked his head into the other glasses doors across the hall with a microphone in hand. 

Wilford blinked once as he hummed under his breath, turning to face Bim as he slurred with a jerk of his thumb behind him, "Am I to assume those are the Jims you have been talking about?"

Bim weakly nodded his head, biting his lip as he looked into the hallway once again and complained under his breath, "They're gonna get us kicked out of here before the damn meeting even happens!" Sighing in exasperation, the game show host zoomed away from the door and back into his seat, flicking open his notebook in front of him as he muttered with an eyeroll, "And this is why I DON'T do any of the planning for  **Hire My Ass. ** It's TOO FUCKING STRESSFUL. I can feel my hair going grey; I can  _ feel _ it!"

The reporter continued to look out into the hallway with pursed lips, listening as Bim typed a number into the land line and, after a moment of silence, exclaimed with a smile in his voice, "Heya! This is the Silver Shepherd, right, 'cause this'll be kinda awkward if you're not..." 

Pushing against the glass doors, Wilford stepped into the hallway, his brown eyes roving over the camera equipment in front of him before resting on the Jim clutching his broken camera and sobbing onto the floor. Snapping his fingers into the face of this Jim, Wilford asked with a quirked brow, "Say… are you fellas here to work on Markiplier TV with the good ol'  _ Wilford Warfstache _ himself?"

The Jim that was holding the microphone turned from the glass doors he was peering into and replied into said microphone with wide eyes, "Yes! CJ, RJ, WJ, and FJ are here to work with Pink Jim for his show!" From his squatted point on the floor, the Jim in front of Wilford pointed to the two bickering Jims and said with a serious expression, "Those are WJ and FJ. Weather Jim and Field Reporter Jim. They  _ always _ argue about  _ stupid _ stuff, like climate change," Jim pointed to the crying Jim and said excitedly, "That's my brother Camera Jim, or CJ. And I'm," he pointed a finger at his own chest, "RJ! Reporter Jim! And you," he pointed at the now nodding Wilford, "Are Pink Jim!"

"Ah! That makes no goddamn sense," Wilford slurred as he bent over and placed both hands on his knees to steady himself, "Say. Are you READY to make the most SPECTACULAR game show and regular old TV channel of ALL time!"

RJ shifted over to where his brother sat, his hands rubbing into CJ's shoulders while the bickering of WJ and FJ became even more heated as FJ picked up a piece of camera equipment and hucked it at WJ's head. It was  _ extremely  _ tempting to join in on the fun in front of him, especially with so much  _ glass _ surrounding the small area, but Wilford bent down so he was the same height as RJ and waited with a cocked head. After whispering a few things into his brother's ear and hearing CJ's breathing start to normalize again, RJ turned to Wilford and nodded his head sharply with a grin.

  
The reporter smiled brightly and took the camera piece from CJ's grip, popping it back into place as he exclaimed, " _ TERRIFIC _ !"


	6. Chapter 6

It was 10:21 and already Wilford was starting to get antsy. Long ago had he abandoned swiveling on his black office chair and had just started to literally pace up and down the enclosed office space, snapping his suspenders as he mumbled curses under his breath. Of COURSE he had to be the first to arrive and, with no Jims in sight, had been left with the complicated task of actually figuring out a way to make the large and shiny TV in front of him play the final product of the project that had taken  _ months _ to complete. Markiplier TV had just been uploaded to YouTube earlier that day, something that had caused Wilford to yell in delight and practically shoot a round into Kathy's head when he had found out after recording an episode of  **Warfstache Live** . Several of his stage crew went "for coffee" after the reporter's excited outburst, Kathy straggling behind the rest of her team as she said with a shake of her head and disbelief in her voice, "I gotta admit it, Wilford. I didn't think you could do it."

"Never  _ underestimate _ a determined Warfstache!"  Wilford had replied with a chuckle, his gun twirling methodically on his finger as he skipped out of the recording studio and instantly found himself back at the office room he and Bim had made the official meeting place three months ago. Now, with one hand reaching behind the TV to grasp at the multicolored wires that were  _ supposed  _ to make the TV work, Wilford growled in annoyance and attempted to just pull all of the cords out the wall at once since he couldn't SEE a bloody thing from where he was standing. The wires wouldn't give at first, but, after a few more yanks that practically pulled the tan plaster off of the wall, the reporter managed to remove the wires and held the colorful cords in front of his face with an amused smile. Now he could DEFINITELY figure out a way to make the TV work in front of him. God, modern technology is always such a DRAG to work with!

Turning his back to the dismantled TV, Wilford dumped all of the wires and black plastic bits that he had retrieved onto the wooden meeting table, twirling his pink mustache between two fingers while humming quietly as he thought about how in the BLAZES was he going to get the TV to work and play his project. His brow furrowing, the reporter started unplugging the different cords and dropping them unceremoniously onto the floor when they no longer served him a purpose, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked. Soon all the wires were unplugged from the cable box and, flipping the black box upside down, Wilford felt his trusty knife appear in his hand with a chuckle, preparing to  _ slice and dice _ the stupid machine front of him to get to the wires with-

"What are you doing?" A mechanical voice slammed Wilford back into reality, the knife in his hand briefly forgotten as he looked towards the glass doors and was met with a man in a blue shirt and glowing blue eyes that stared at him unamusingly. 

Lowering his knife to his side like a kid who had been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar, Wilford smiled sheepishly and ran a hand down his now shaved chin before slurring with a wave of his hand, "As if  _ I _ bloody know, friend! I HARDLY know how this contraption works!" Taking a step away from the table as the blue man quickly stepped in front of him and examined the parts and wires with a passive expression, Wilford pursed his lips as he spun in a circle before going over to the door and peering out into the hallway. He looked at his watch. 10:31. The man was fifteen minutes early.

"You may have damaged the internal circuit board of this cable box had I not stopped you," the man droned, bending over to pick up the ropes of cord that were eskcued across the carpeted floor. He stood rigidly straight once again, one hand holding the cable box steady as the other pressed all the wires back into their correct locations easily, before continuing with obvious malice in his voice, "Then your stupid TV wouldn't have worked ever again and you would've had to replace it with a newer model that couldn't be so easily tampered with. You would've wasted a computer and wasted my time and believe me," he quickly plugged in the last cord with a slam to punctuate his next words, "I do _not_ like wasting time on infantile subjects."

He turned from the table and walked briskly over to the TV, the now partially fixed cable box tightly held in his grasp as broken pieces of wires hung off the sides pathetically. As the man pulled the desk away from the wall so he could see all the circuitry behind it, Wilford smiled amusingly and chuckled heartedly, twirling his knife between his fingers as he rested a hip against the glass door beside him. "I  _ daresay _ , old chap!" He slurred as he watched the man ignore him and continue to place the cable box back into place with a roll of his illuminating blue eyes. The TV buzzed to life overhead, causing Wilford to lose his train of thought for a second before he recovered and said with excitement, "If all it took was a smart man like  _ yourself _ to fix that blasted screen, I wouldn't have TOUCHED the damn thing in the first place!"

The blue man glared at Wilford from across the room, sliding his glasses slowly back up his nose as a frown adorned his features. The reporter stared right back, raising a brow as the man shifted his gaze from Wilford and looked slightly over his right shoulder and out into the hallway. Curiosity getting the best of him, the pink haired man turned too, hopping away from the door almost immediately after as a  _ very disheveled _ and  _ very stressed _ Bim Trimmer barreled through the glass doors and into the meeting room. His black hair was ruffled as if he had been combing his hands through it and he had his hand clenched around his phone as he breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank GOD. I thought I missed the meeting," Bim huffed, turning on his phone and looking at the time with an anxious expression, "The meeting is at 10:45, right?"

"RIGHTO!" Wilford responded cheerfully, slugging an arm over the game show host's shoulders as the blue man stood from his place on the floor and gave Bim the once over, "You're RIGHT ON TIME! Isn't it exciting!? Only a measelly nine minutes to go!"

Bim laughed at that, his eyes moving from the grinning Wilford to the blue man in front of him. He smiled charmingly and, stepping out from underneath the reporter's arm, held out his hand as he said politely, "Bim Trimmer, host of  **Hire My Ass** and co-creator of  **Markiplier TV** !" 

Wilford watched with interest as the man slowly extended his arm, Bim continuing to smile gently as his hand was grasped firmly. "I already know who you are," the man hissed robotically, shaking Bim's hand once before pulling away once again. His blue eyes flashed. "I know who  _ all  _ of you are. But,  _ obviously _ , you do not know who I am. My name is Googliplier and my primary objective is to answer your questions as quickly as possible." 

He walked past Bim, bumping shoulders with the game show host rudely, and went to the far end of the board table, taking a seat in one of the office chairs with a thwump and lacing his fingers together as he looked forward mechanically. Wilford watched all of this with an amused smile, the game show host in front of him turning to the reporter with a mixture of annoyance and intrigue in his eyes before trotting over to where Wilford was standing and muttering under his breath, "Wow... Okay then."

The reporter simply giggled and shrugged his shoulders.

\---

It was 10:43 and already Wilford was getting a headache. Rubbing his temples with closed eyes, the reporter could hear the loud ruckus of the other people surrounding him, their voices bleeding together since they sounded so similar. But none of them had the dark, echo-y quality that Wilford  _ longed _ to hear, such as the voice of the man that had caused him to create this show in the first place did. Bim had told him earlier that day who was to be expected for the meeting and the reporter  _ distinctly _ remembered the shakes of delight that had shot through his body at the sound of the dark man's name. So WHERE WAS HE?

Opening his eyes and glaring behind him as something bumped into the back of the chair he was sitting in, Wilford was met with a man with a brown cowboy hat and brown mustache staring down at him, large sunglasses obscuring his eyes from the observative reporter's gaze. "That would be my seat there, buckaroo," the man ( _ was that Ed?? _ ) drawled before placing a hand on Wilford's shoulder in order to move him out of his seat. 

The reporter crinkled up his nose in thought, spinning his red knife around the tip of a finger, before shrugging and standing abruptly from his seat. In his haste to vacate the seat, however, his elbow slammed into the side of Google's arm, Wilford watching with an opened mouth as the blue Android began to glitch in his chair. "Oops," Wilford said with a snort, nearly bursting into a fit of giggles as Google shot him a look of pure rage that would have scared even the most brave of people, "What the  _ Hell _ just happened to YOU?!"

Google glitched a few more times before snarling, "D-d-do NOT attempt to t-t-touch me ag-g-gain. Unless, of course, you w-w-wish to have your arm tor-r-rn from it's socket. Do you un-n-nderst-t-tand?" 

Wilford made a face and waved his hand in front of the blue android dismissively, muttering with an exasperated sigh, "Yes, yes, yes. I  _ understand _ . No need to get your knickers all in a bunch." Side stepping Ed, who had watched the exchange between the two men with a shit eating grin splitting his face, Wilford stuffed both hands into his pockets and made his way to the front of the room, his eyes roaming to the man in a giant silver costume talking to a barely listening Bim from across the table. Silver, at least that's what the reporter THOUGHT was the man's name, was waving his arms around excitedly and talking vividly about his practically  _ perfect _ girlfriend with gleaming eyes, the game show host across from him occasionally glancing away from whatever he was staring at from across the room to nod with a smile or to add the odd comment here and there.

The Doctor, Edward Iplier, was talking good naturedly with the man sitting to his left, the man's eyes wrapped with bloodied bandages and his lips seemingly never stopping a steady stream of words that narrated everything that was happening around him. Wilford had learned the _hard_ _way_ that The Host, the man with the bandages, was completely blind when he had offered his hand with a chuckle and The Host replied fluidly with, "-s the time grows ever closer, the reporter, Wilford Warfstache, approached The Host with an outstretched hand and a troublesome grin. Little did the eccentric man know that The Host is blind and therefore cannot shake hands with the reporter in front of him." That had been awkward on SOO MANY levels.

Sighing impantiantly, Wilford began to hum under his breath, snapping his suspenders to the beat as he tried to tune out the noise of the cramped office room. He closed his eyes and swayed slightly, repeating feverishly over and over again in his mind like a mantra  _ please let the dark man show up, please let the dark man show up _ . This would be it, after months and months and MONTHS of careful planning. Finally, Wilford would be able to meet the man that had been haunting his dreams along with the names Celine and Damien. Maybe HE would know WHY those names were so very important to Wilford and why they had woven their way so intricately into his mind that he couldn't even focus half the time at work. This WAS it. It was do or die time.

Wilford's humming stopped instantly as a sharp shrill began to distantly ring in the back of his ears. It grew louder as the seconds ticked by, goosebumps tingling on the reporter's arms as he spotted a growing cloud of black, red, and blue beginning to form at the head of the table in the seat that was reserved for the dark man. The room grew silent as the ringing reached a pitch that was uncomfortable to listen to, several of the other men looking at the forming shape of a human with either stern looks or with no expression adorning their face at all. There was no doubt in Wilford's mind as his throat began to close up in excitement that the being now forming in front of him was the man that he had been waiting to see for a  _ long _ time.

The figure had grey skin and swooping black hair that slightly covered one of his eyes. The suit he was wearing was the color of a moonless night sky and his mouth was pulled into such a thin line, it appeared like he didn't have a mouth at all. And finally, once he had a fairly solid form and his ringing had been reduced to background noise, the dark man laced his fingers together and rested them onto the table silently. Red eyes stared angrily into Wilford's from across the table, the reporter's hands feeling sweaty as he forgot what he had been planning upon saying to man once he had arrived. He looked  _ soo familiar _ . And not just because the reporter had watched all the dark man's videos before even beginning to write  **Markiplier TV** , oh no. Wilford could SWEAR up and down, forwards and backwards, that he had met this man before. But where in the  _ bloody Hell _ would he have met him?! 

He couldn't think of any place off the top of his head and he cursed his spotty memory under his breath, his eyes never leaving the man's ruby pair for more then a second. Mark his words, Wilford would figure it out even if it was the DEATH of him.

A few moments of perfect silence bounced around the office room before the man spoke calmly, his voice resonating around the room in a way that demands attention, " **So. This is what I was brought here for. To visit a few of Mark's other mindless Egos and to exchange friendship bracelets amongst ourselves.** "

Silence.

The man cracked his neck with a snap, his eyes never leaving Wilford's face, as the reporter himself cleared his throat and, deciding to completely wing it, replied cheerfully, "I'm so very  _ HAPPY _ that you made it…?"

" **Darkiplier.** "

_ Liar. _

"Darkiplier! My name is  _ Wilford Warfstache _ and I CREATED something along with Bim Trimmer here," the game show host smiled uneasily in Dark's direction before returning his eyes to Silver in front of him, "that will completely CHANGE our dynamic in Markiplier's world! Just trust old Wilford here when he says that this will change EVERYTHING! Possibly FOREVER!"

Dark's expression didn't change, but Wilford could tell he was intrigued. He didn't know exactly HOW he could tell, but he DEFINITELY could. Was it facial cues? Or was it just intuition? The reporter had no clue as he looked behind him and snatched the controller that was resting on the desk below the TV, his excitement returning as he jiggled the controller in between his fingers and smirked at the sulking man in front of him. It took a few moments for Dark to respond, but, when he did, it felt like a barrage of fireworks erupted from Wilford's stomach triumphantly. He giggled, holding the control in one hand and twirling the end of his pink mustache with the other.

  
" **Well… I suppose I don't have too much work to do today… Let us see what you two have created."**


	7. Chapter 7

The clinical lights of the office room blared down annoyingly into Wilford's eyes, his silver gun clutched firmly in his hand as his grin faded quickly off his features. Blood was sprinkled across his striped shirt and the body in front of him had more bullet holes then he could recall actually shooting into the annoying man. In hindsight…  _ maybe _ he shouldn't have shot Septiplier even though he had been practically  _ begged _ to by the man himself. Oops. 

The room had begun to rumble with chatter again, several of the men in front of the reporter whispering to each other and stealing uncomfortable glances at the body on the floor. Dr. Iplier, the only person in the room to actually LIKE the idea of Wilford's TV show, was now looking at the reporter with horror and disgust shining clearly in his eyes. Silver, an actual costumed superhero Wilford had found out, shifted uneasily in his chair and kept looking out the glass doors as if he were tempted to jump up and run ( _ or fly? Could Silver fly? _ ).

The Host and Google seemed mostly unaffected by the blood, The Host continuing to gaze ahead and narrate softly while Google smugly looked at the body with a creepy smile on his face. Ed, NOT an actual cowboy and an all around asshole, looked like he was trying not to throw up by covering his mouth with his hat, his aviators sliding down his nose as he tried to conceal his efforts behind a false bravado. And Bim was just  _ pissed _ , his arms crossed and lips pressed tight together as he glared between Wilford and the TV screen with questions in his eyes. The reporter tried not to flinch under the scathing gaze, knowing deep down that he MAYBE should have told Bim that HE was going to host the game show and NOT go behind his back and do it without confiding in him first… But, to be perfectly honest, it had been WILFORD'S idea in the first place!

Wilford rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, trying not to chuckle in embarrassment as he looked at the body in front of him with a sick feeling sinking in his stomach. "Uh… I'll clean that up later," Wilford murmered, waving a hand in the body's direction and earning a gasp and an eye roll from Dr. Iplier, "What? It's not like he's gonna GO anywhere."

Only then did Dark shift forward in his seat, everyone's attention snapping towards him, even Wilford's, as he began slowly, " **This… was a highly unproductive meeting.** "

"Got that right," Google muttered, shooting Wilford a scalding look as his eyes flashed blue again. Wilford glared back, not knowing if the flashing was a threat or something else.

" **However** ," Dark shot Google a look for cutting him off. He pointed at Wilford and continued, " **I do believe you are onto something with your… presentation.** "

"Really?" Wilford and Dr. Iplier said at the same time, one man's words full of excitement and the other's full of disbelief. Wilford bounced backwards onto the balls of his feet, feeling the gun in his hand evaporate as he waited with baited breath for what Dark would say next.

The man in question, his blue and red aura shining brightly from behind him, nodded and stated firmly, " **Your idea had flawed logic, that much is perfectly clear. But this,** " he gestured to the table in front of him and to each of the other men in turn, " **Is absolutely brilliant.** " He stood slowly from his chair, using the table for support, and leveled Wilford down with another stare, the reporter getting goosebumps up and down his arms as he met the gaze. " **By getting all of Markiplier's ** ** _Egos_ ** ," he spit the word out like it was poison, " **Into the same room, all of whom are sharing ideas and creating plans, the chances of us coming up with a plan that will eventually work is much higher.** "

The air around him started to ring once again as the air around him started to turn grey, as if his entire being was soaking in all the light and color and replacing it with darkness. Wilford continued to stare, his head spinning with ideas and questions and everything in between, with his hands planted firmly on the table in front of him. " **We will have to do this again. But with more calculated plans and less theatrics.** "

"I hate to break it to you," Bim spoke up, the trance that Wilford felt like he was in when he stared at Dark broken almost immediately. He gave Bim a cold look that the game show host immediately returned in the form of a forced smile as he continued, "Buuut, this room isn't exactly  _ free _ . It takes a surprising amount of money to just rent this room for an  _ hour _ . I'm not made out of money here and I can't just  _ spontaneously _ ask the owner of this building to just let us use this room whenever the fuck convenient."

Dark looked thoughtful as he mulled the information over, Wilford beginning to worry that Dark would just say 'forget it' and disappear into thin air forever. He NEEDED to know where he had met Dark before; He needed it like OXYGEN. It was like it was on the tip of his tongue! It shouldn't be this hard to remember what was obviously an  _ important _ face! Finally, Dark sighed and looked at the reporter once again, his blue aura flashing the tiniest bit brighter then his red as he muttered, " **I have someplace we can meet. It's a manor, directly outside of LA. No one will interrupt our conversions there. That I can guarantee.** " 

Grumbles, mostly from Ed and Dr. Iplier, filled the room before eventually falling back into silence, all pairs of brown eyes turning to look at the slightly shocked Wilford at the other head of the table, the reporter placing his trembling hands into his pockets as a large grin split across his face. He nodded his head excitedly and chortled giddily, "Why, that sounds MARVELOUS! An absolutely SMASHING idea! I  _ love _ it!"

" **Good.** "

And for the briefest of moments, Wilford  _ swore  _ that he saw a smile cross Darkiplier's lips just to be quickly replaced with a frown as he slowly faded out of existence. And even  _ though _ it hadn't gone EXACTLY the way Wilford had been hoping, he considered  **Markiplier TV** , the project he had been planning for months just to get a  _ glimpse _ at the man that had stood across from him, a beautiful, wonderful, spectacular success.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Thank you for taking the time to read the beginning of my silly little ego story (as I affectionately call it)! If you liked what you read, let me know and leave either a comment or kudos below (I don't care which lol)! Thanks again! Bye-bye!


End file.
